


you're gone, oblivion

by ALovelyLitwit



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Death and Resurrection, Happy Ending, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALovelyLitwit/pseuds/ALovelyLitwit
Summary: Michael Guerin is dead. And there's nothing Alex can do about it.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 33
Kudos: 91





	you're gone, oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> A little thing. An indulgence.

Michael Guerin is dead. 

Has been dead for five full minutes.

The last breath he’d taken had expired with the sun. And now he lies still. His alien heat turned cold, skin already a light shade of blue. Lips dry, eyes open and unseeing. His body upright, held just so by Alex. His stiffening back pressed tight to Alex’s chest. His only warmth, the tears that drip from Alex’s chin onto his neck.

But Michael is dead. And there is no one to save him.

Alex had tired. Had pumped his heart so hard his ribs cracked. Blown hot air into his mouth with no results. Had screamed and bargained and begged. But in the middle of the desert, there’d been no one to hear him. To answer his prayers. 

And so Michael is dead. And Alex is a broken thing, left behind. 

The buzzards are already circling overhead. Hungry. Alex’s only thought when he stares up at them is how satisfied they’ll be with two bodies to gorge on. Because he isn’t leaving Michael behind. He’ll sit here, holding vigil, until he too takes his final breath. After all, he was always meant to die in the desert. And isn’t this better? With Michael in his arms rather than half a world away.

Yes. It is better. For a split second, his sobs soften and he smiles.

His smile fades when a breeze sends Michael’s curls flying, unruly. Just like when he’d been alive, heart beating. And that’s when he realizes it all over again. That Michael’s dead. Dead and gone and never coming back. 

With the sun gone and Michael gone too, the air grows cold and Alex begins to shake. He welcomes the chill, the burn at his cheeks and fingertips. Gripping Michael closer, he buries his nose in his hair and sobs again. No tears this time -- those are gone too. Like everything else.

Hours pass. Maybe only minutes. A buzzard lands in the dust not twenty feet away. Everything is happening so fast and so slow. And he doesn’t know what to wish for. A quick death or more terrible minutes with Michael dead in his arms. He prays for both.

His back aches. That’s fine. He appreciates the pain. It won’t last long now.

At some point, he shifts Michael onto his side, lying down behind him and closing his eyes. He sleeps, he dreams, he wakes. Michael remains dead. Colder now, icy. Blue as the moon. 

No one has come. There is no one who knows where they are, that Michael is dead, that Alex is waiting for release.

The night is peaceful. Quiet. Stars and moon crystal clear. It’s easy now. Dying. Returning to the earth, becoming stardust. So much easier now. The fight leaves him, the thump of his heart a fading echo.

He tries to speak one last time. But his mouth is already ashes.

He thinks he hears a voice. Somewhere. A dream maybe or in the after. He’s too tired to care.

‘Alex!’ His body shakes violently and it angers him. He tries desperately to stay below, stretches for death’s hand. But he’s yanked free, pulled from his dark hole, his freedom. Shoved back into the too-bright world.

‘Alex!’ The voice is familiar now. Wrong. ‘Wake up.’ A demand, harsh and unnatural on the tongue he knows so well. 

Michael.

Michael is alive.

His heart stutters, starts, beats again. Suddenly, there’s water at his lips and warmth along his skin. He opens his eyes. And it’s Michael.

Alive, not a scratch. Ribs unbroken and skin flushed despite the desert night. 

‘What were you doing out here?’ Their roles are reversed. He’s the dead one; Michael holding vigil. Nothing makes sense.

‘You were dead.’ His throat stings. More water. He coughs. ‘Jones killed you. Killed me too.’

‘What? No.’ Michael’s warm hands on his face. No. No?

‘Yes. He was here, killed you without even touching you. Made me watch.’ He panics, clutches at Michael. Alive and whole and the very best thing. Always the very best thing. ‘You were dead. And I was here, but I was dead too.’

Another voice. Isobel. ‘He’s moved on to mind games. Fuck, Max. What are we going to do?’

None of it makes sense. No matter how hard he thinks, tries. ‘You’re not dead?’ Michael’s warm, bare chest. So warm. He presses his ear, close. Breathing with the beat of his heart. Alive.

He’s able to cry again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say high on Tumblr! I'm litwitlady over there.


End file.
